Familiar Strangers

Antonio (2)

Antonio's POV

And just like that, breakfast became our little daily ritual. Nothing dramatic — a few “good mornings,” a “welcome back,” the occasional “goodnight.” Peaceful. Basic. Functional.

From what I’ve observed, she’s always busy with something. Doing what? No idea. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care enough to.

Then, mid-week, Grandpa called. The Walters were throwing a birthday party for their daughter, Betty, on Friday, and he insisted I take Marissa along. “A must,” he said, and even handed me an important document to deliver to Mr. Walter personally. I knew exactly what he was doing. That sneaky old man hasn’t retired from matchmaking for a single day in his life.

So now it’s Friday morning, and I’m supposed to tell Marissa about this party. No clue how she’ll react, but it’s not like she has much of a say — Grandpa already declared it mandatory.

If you asked me what I think of Marissa… honestly? Nothing special. She’s not terrible, but I’m not impressed either. I barely know her. What I do know is she’s annoyingly curious — during breakfast she’s always the one talking, asking questions, trying to “get to know each other,” even when I clearly ignore her.

And something tells me she’s trouble. I don’t have proof yet, but my instincts rarely miss.

It’s Friday, and like every other morning I walked downstairs to find breakfast already set. I took my seat, started eating, and after a few bites I said, “There’s a party tonight. A family friend. Grandpa said we have to go.”

“Oh, typical of him,” she replied immediately. “He’s trying to announce us since we basically eloped. That sneaky old man.”

She smiled, and honestly… it was weird how we had the exact same thought.

“We leave by 9pm,” I added.

“Okay.”

And just like that, silence returned. When I finished eating, I stood and left.

At nine that evening, I’m waiting by the door, checking my watch for the fifth time when I hear footsteps. I turn… and see her coming down the stairs.

She’s dressed simply — but the kind of simple that looks expensive without trying. And for the first time, it hits me: the Joels are part of the top one percent, but they’ve always been extremely low-key. Marissa especially. She’s never been involved in that social circle, yet looking at her right now, she’d blend in effortlessly. Actually, more than blend — she’d stand out.

She reaches me. “How do I look?”

I just stare not knowing if I should actually respond.

She blinks. “Are you going like that to the party?”

I glance down at my suit, then back at her.

“You’re going to a party, not the office,” she says. “Loosen up a bit.”

Before I can react, her hands are suddenly on my neck. I take an instinctive step back — and she steps forward just as fast.

“Relax. One minute,” she murmurs, and loosens my tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt. Then she reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair, messing it slightly.

We’re almost the same height with her heels, standing way too close. I lift my eyes and meet hers. She’s focused on my hair, unaware I’m staring.

And for a second… I’m caught off guard. She’s gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met — and I’ve met a lot.

As I’m standing there, completely lost in that moment with my chest beating way too fast for comfort, she finally steps back. The spell snaps. I shake my head once, trying to mentally reboot because whatever that was?

“So which car are we taking?”

I clear my throat, point at the black Audi. Solid, quiet, practical.

She just stares at me like I picked a bicycle.

“Really? That? We’re going to a party. A party is about making an entrance.”

“It’s you who likes making an entrance,” I shoot back.

Her smirk says Bingo.

“Good you noticed.”

Then she points toward the blue car parked off to the side.

“How about this one?”

Of course. The flashiest one in the lineup.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few days living with Marissa, it’s that she has a thing for cars. A serious thing. She’s shown up with a different ride almost every single day, each one louder and shinier than the last.

Figures she’d pick the one that screams look at us.

But I’m a low-key guy, and she clearly isn’t, so I shut it down immediately.

“No.”

I walk straight to the Audi, get in the driver’s seat, and wait. She huffs, glares at the blue car like it personally offended her, then finally drags herself over and gets in.

We drive. It’s a thirty-minute trip.

First half: she’s glued to her phone.

Second half: she drops it, glances into the back seat, then swings her eyes to me like she’s discovered a crime scene.

“You said it’s a family friend’s birthday. So… where’s the gift?”

“We’re not close,” I say, eyes on the road.

She scoffs. “You’re not close to anybody, but that doesn’t mean you show up to a birthday empty-handed.”

Before I can reply, she suddenly leans forward.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car! There’s a shop right there—you can get her something.”

I frown. “There’s no need.”